


and snow it goes

by the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Sterek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Future Fic, Graduate Student Stiles Stilinski, Hanukkah, Jewish Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pining, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 00:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16964085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: “If it wasn’t for - ”“-the publish or perish mentality of modern academics, you wouldn’t be drowning in papers that are just bad rehashes of previous work,” Derek finished. “I’ve heard your rant a time or ten, Stiles.”





	and snow it goes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 12 days of sterek 2018! shout out to @literaryoblivion for being an awesome mod :D

“Come on, come on, come on.” Stiles bounced on the balls of his feet, frozen fingers barely managing to keep hold of his apartment key.

After what felt like an eternity, he managed to shove open the door and stagger into the welcome warmth beyond. His apartment was tiny, but he was poor graduate student and honestly thankful he could crank up the heat without worrying too much about the gas bill.

Stiles set his snow-caked boots onto their rubber mat, then untangled the mass of scarves and hats and coats he had wrapped himself in. His officemates had gifted him with a coat rack last year in an attempt to contain his explosion of winter gear. It wasn’t his fault upstate New York was so damn cold.

Once he’d managed to unthaw a little, Stiles unearthed his laptop and phone. He stared at the missed call and voicemail, both from Derek. Well, from _Blue Steel_ , according to the notification.

Without listening to the voicemail, Stiles hit Call Back. The phone rang once, twice, three times while Stiles paced, chewing on his lip.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, as soon as he heard Derek pick up.

He could practically hear Derek’s eyebrows. “Nothing is wrong, Stiles.”

“But it’s Wednesday.” Stiles frowned, counting the days. “At least I’m 63% sure it’s Wednesday.”

“Maybe I missed your voice,” Derek teased, then turned serious. “Everyone is safe and accounted for. Your dad is at the station with Jordan and the pack is at Kira’s.”

Slumping back onto the couch, Stiles let out a slow breath. Being so far away from everyone made him feel constantly on edge. And Derek only ever called on Tuesdays and Fridays.

“Wait.” Stiles sat up. “The pack is at Kira’s? But you’re not?”

That was unusual. He’d at least thought everyone was capable of being civil to each other, if not alarmingly co-dependent. Unless Derek was relapsing into his brooding, lone wolf nonsense.

“So help me gods, Derek. If you’re isolating yourself again, I’m going to teleport to California and drag your ass to Scott.”

Derek laughed, something that he’d been doing more and more often. “No, I was there before. I just left early so I could catch you before you got caught up in reading.”

Stiles looked guiltily at his laptop. He should be reading. Hell, he should’ve been reading on the bus, but he was too reluctant to take off his mittens. And the two pairs of gloves underneath.

“If it wasn’t for - ”

“-the publish or perish mentality of modern academics, you wouldn’t be drowning in papers that are just bad rehashes of previous work,” Derek finished. “I’ve heard your rant a time or ten, Stiles.”

“Well, that doesn’t make it less relevant.” Stiles shoved at the mountain of blankets on the couch, burying himself. Maybe Derek really _did_ just want to chat.

To be fair, Stiles always wanted to listen to Derek, even if he just talked about a weird caterpillar he’d seen in the preserve. For almost fifteen minutes. Stiles still wasn’t quite sure what that was about. But the butterfly village he’d gotten Derek as a housewarming/ goodbye gift had hung in the garden all summer. And Stiles had received frequent updates in the form of photos and phone calls as the tiny eggs hatched into larvae that grew into caterpillars and eventually became butterflies.

“What’s changed in Beacon Hills since yesterday?” Stiles asked, tucking the blankets more securely around his feet.

“Nothing.” Derek hesitated for a moment. “I was really just checking in to make sure you were ready for the weather.”

Stiles groaned. “Snowmageddon isn’t supposed to be here until Friday.”

He was already dreading it. More snow and it was barely December. What was he thinking moving here?

“But do you have food? Water? And blankets? First aid? A generator?”

Stifling his snort in a blanket, Stiles shook his head. Derek was totally the mom friend. “I’ve got everything but the generator. Since I live in an apartment and can’t hook one up to anything in here.”

“Sorry. I just…” Derek trailed off awkwardly.

Stiles rolled his eyes. Wolves. “You’re just freaking out because your squishiest packmate is an entire country away.”

“I know you can take care of yourself,” Derek said, ignoring the squishy human taunt. “But I wish you didn’t have to be alone.”

Internally, Stiles agreed. But making Derek worry was not high on the list of things he wanted to do.

“I’ll be fine, big guy. Catch up on sleep. Maybe watch some Netflix if the power stays on.”

“Call me if you need anything?”

And Stiles couldn’t deny him anything, no when he asked in that concerned, pleading tone.

“Of course, Derek. I’ll talk to you Friday, okay?”

\---

Thursday somehow managed to be even colder.

Stiles trudged up the steps to his second-floor apartment, head ducked against the wind and tears freezing on his eyelashes. Winter was the worst. He should have stayed in California.

With the wind stinging his eyes and face, Stiles almost tripped over a large box sitting on the _Wipe your Paws_ welcome mat in front of his door. The mat was a parting gift from Isaac. Stiles had laughed ‘til he cried.

But the box was unfamiliar. Shivering, Stiles got the door unlocked and hefted the box inside. Hopefully it wasn’t something nefarious sent by a rival pack. At this point, Stiles wouldn’t be all that surprised.

He kicked off his boots before dumping his gear and backpack in a damp pile by the door. Then, futilely trying to rub warmth back into his hands, he shuffled off to the kitchen. The scissors had to be there somewhere.

A few minutes later, he was slicing through the packing tape with a kitchen knife. Stiles’ advisor had made him do a whole semester on interdimensional travel and he was convinced that his scissors only spent some of their time in his kitchen. Dr. Müller had just rolled her eyes when he brought it up.

But once the frankly alarming amount of tape was dealt with, Stiles froze. He knew that handwriting.

 

_Hey kiddo,_

_I know you’re missing home right now, so your_

_friends decided to send a bit of home your way._

_Try to stay warm and make sure to tell Derek_

_thank you. This was his idea after all._

_Love, Dad_

 

Stiles read the note again and felt the familiar stab of homesickness. He knew being here and studying with Dr. Müller would benefit the pack in the long term, but for now it just sucked. Setting the note aside so he could stick it on the fridge later, Stiles turned back to the box.

He ran his hands over a pair of thick socks that were soft to the touch and a bright shade of red. If he had to guess, he’d say they were hand-knit by Grandma Boyd herself. Or maybe Boyd. He’d improved a lot since high school, but Stiles still wore his earlier works with pride.

The next item was a home-made calendar. January had a photo of Liam asleep in Derek’s backyard next to a giant hole, with a sign reading: _I dig holes in the garden when I’m bored_. February was Scott, doing his ridiculous puppy eyes while holding another piece of paper: _I ate an entire pan of lasagna and then got sick._

By the time he reached December (Isaac looking sheepishly at the camera, a whiteboard with: _It’s been ~~15~~ 0 days since the last skunk incident _behind him), Stiles was lying on the floor struggling to breathe through his laughter.

There were other things in the box as well – candy and snacks and instant meals – but what caught his eye was a familiar purple sweater. He ran his fingers over the soft fabric, debating whether sniffing it would be weird. In the end he caved; because _werewolves_.

Breathing in the citrus smell of Derek’s soap and the warm, earthy tones he associated with Beacon Hills, Stiles felt part of his restlessness settle. Maybe the pack was on to something with their obsessive scenting.

Slipping the sweater over his head, Stiles reached for his phone and tapped _Blue Steel_. But for the first time, the phone went to voicemail. Stiles frowned at the screen as Derek’s generic greeting played over the speaker.

Oh well. He could just try again later.

\---

The room was dark when Stiles jack-knifed off of the couch. Before he was even fully conscious, his spark was gathering tightly around the sigils on his forearms. A glance out the window told him it was after sundown, but that didn’t mean much during the winter. There was snow piling up under the street lamp outside, and fat flakes drifted through the halo of light.

Stiles made it to the front door silently, not an easy task with floors as ancient and creaky as these. He could sense someone outside, but they hadn’t triggered his wards. Setting his hand against the door, he reached out with his magic.

In an instant, he was flinging open the door and hurling himself at the man on the porch.

Derek caught him easily, luggage off to the side like he was anticipating a similar reaction.

“Back inside, idiot. You’re not even wearing shoes,” Derek admonished, setting Stiles on his feet in the entryway.

“You’re here!” Stiles said, brain still catching up with the world of the living. “You’re in New York.”

With a soft smile, Derek set a smaller bag on the windowsill. “Happy Hanukkah, Stiles,” he said, carefully unpacking a familiar menorah and nine blue candles. “Your dad wanted to come, but he couldn’t get the time off.”

Stiles couldn’t resist, wrapping Derek in a bone-crushing hug. He was a werewolf, he could handle it. But Derek clung back just as desperately, that unspoken thing between them almost tangible in the air.

“Is it okay if I stay?” he asked, face still half-buried against Stiles’ neck.

Smiling, Stiles drew away. “Stay as long as you want.”

“And if I wanted to stay forever?” Derek met his eyes, looking nervous but sure at the same time.

It turned out that kissing that look off his face was even better than Stiles had imagined.

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Link to rebloggable edit and fic coming soon!
> 
> EDIT: [Here it is!](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com/post/181127428337/12daysofsterek-author-theproblemwithstardust/)


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